Forget Me Not
by Questfan
Summary: An AU ending to Commodities. Athos does not quite make it out of the chateau in one piece and it's up to d'Artagnan to put him back together.


**An AU ending to _Commodities_. Just a little one-shot idea that would not leave me alone. I think this must be what withdrawal feels like. I want more! On the countdown to Season 2.**

**Forget Me Not**

D'Artagnan tugged at the lapel of Athos' doublet and searched frantically for any sign of life. His friend had collapsed onto the grass mere seconds after being dragged free of the inferno raging behind them. In the alternating darkness of the night and the blinding glare of the flames, he struggled to see clearly. His own frame cast shadows where he needed to be able to see and he quickly maneuvered around to the far side of Athos. His fingers pulled at the leather and tried desperately to force the buttons free as his hands shook violently. The smell of singed hair and smoke clung to them both and his eyes watered, although he wasn't sure the smoke was the only cause.

The adrenaline that had coursed through his veins was beginning to subside and his body was reacting accordingly. Cursing his clumsy fingers, he wrenched at the garment and finally pulled it apart. The shirt underneath had once been white, but now it was soiled with sweat and smoke and a long streak of blood. He forced his hand through the lacing and laid it firmly against Athos' chest. He dropped his head in relief as he felt a steady pounding underneath his fingers.

Slowly, as if of their own accord, his fingers moved up to touch the side of Athos' face. His beard was patchy where the flames had taken pieces of it and d'Artagnan recalled his first sight of his friend, lying prone on the floor with flames licking at his face. Tiny blisters and reddened skin showed just how close they had come.

"Wake up! Please … Athos … wake up."

Behind them, timbers began to give way and crash from the first floor through to the ground below. What had been a stately home, was quickly being consumed by the fire and d'Artagnan cringed as he wondered what Athos would do when he saw it.

_If_ he saw it.

He quickly dismissed that frightening thought and focused on rousing his friend. The blood stain on Athos' shirt revealed a thin mark down his chest, but the wound did not look serious enough to have caused him to have passed out from blood loss. Gentle fingers prodded further until d'Artagnan found the most probable cause on the back of his head. A lump the size of an egg was bleeding sluggishly. He had no idea what had caused it, but could reasonably assume a timber had broken free and dropped on him from above. In the smoke-filled interior of the house it would have been difficult to see it coming.

"Athos … please … you have to wake up."

The total lack of response was beginning to frighten him and d'Artagnan reached behind him for his saddle bag. He had only left Athos long enough to run for it as it contained a waterbag. As he slowly dribbled the liquid over his friend's face and wiped at the grime with his free hand, he finally provoked a reaction.

Athos shuddered as the water slid down his face and pooled against his neck. His hand shot up instinctively and he grabbed at the arm in front of his face. D'Artagnan was relieved to see Athos' eyes trained on him, but the relief was short-lived.

"Who are you?"

The question caught him off guard and he was slow to speak. Athos wrapped his hand around d'Artagnan's wrist and stared at him.

"I asked you a question! Who are you?" Even with smoke-filled lungs and a rasping voice, the question came out with authority.

"It's me, d'Artagnan." The initial relief had given way to alarm as Athos seemed to stare right through him. "Athos, are you all right?"

Athos pushed himself up onto one arm and seemed to suddenly register where he was. He looked at the house that was still burning and he forced himself upright. D'Artagnan moved to help hold him steady, but Athos shrugged his hand away. Instead he pushed to his feet and staggered towards the house.

"Anne! Thomas!"

D'Artagnan grabbed at his arm and Athos tried to twist out of his grasp. "Let me go! Where is my wife? My brother?"

"There's no-one here, Athos. I came back alone after we set off to take Bonnaire to Paris."

The words seemed not to have registered as Athos staggered forward. D'Artagnan lunged forward and grabbed him by the arms and Athos twisted violently against him.

"Release me!"

Athos continued to struggle against his captor while simultaneously shouting over his shoulder.

"Anne! Thomas! Answer me!"

D'Artagnan planted his foot and leaned into Athos in an effort to hold him from running towards the house. He grasped his shoulders and tried to force him to pay attention.

"Athos! There is nobody inside. I promise you. There was nobody here for a long time. We came yesterday when Porthos was wounded, remember? The house was sealed up, the furniture was covered over. Nobody was living here!"

Athos stared wildly at him before scanning the windows again.

"Where are they? Thomas was here! I saw him."

"Athos, you told me that Thomas was dead. I don't know where Anne is, but I promise you, she is not in there."

D'Artagnan could feel Athos trembling in his grip and he desperately tried to think what to do. Something was very, very wrong. Suddenly a length of timber framing collapsed behind them with a deafening thud and Athos flinched as sparks billowed into the sky. D'Artagnan turned towards the building and caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. A horse and rider streaked past them in the darkness and he just caught a glimpse of a billowing cape. The rider was a woman! He barely had time to process that and wonder if they had disturbed a squatter with their unexpected arrival.

Before he could do anything further with that piece of information, his attention was drawn back to Athos. The man was sagging despite his best efforts and d'Artagnan lowered him to his knees on the grass. He held both elbows in an effort to keep his friend from completely sliding sideways. Athos was struggling to keep his wits about him and he forced his head upright.

"Who are you?" he whispered before toppling forward into d'Artagnan's grasp.

There was nothing else to do but ease his friend out onto the grass. They were too far from the village and d'Artagnan had no idea what farms lay in between. Once again he reached out a hand and probed the lump on the back of Athos' head. It seemed to have stopped bleeding at last. He searched across the grass for where he had left his saddlebag and waterbag and quickly reached into the bag to pull out a spare shirt. It was all he had and without hesitation, he began to slice it into strips. As he eased off the stopper on the waterbag, he looked down to see that Athos had not moved. It took far longer than Aramis would have needed, but eventually he had the wound cleaned and strips of shirt wrapped around his friend's head. Athos muttered slightly as he was rolled onto his side, but he quickly settled again as D'Artagnan pulled his upper body across his lap.

The fire was far from spent, but it was certainly diminishing. D'Artagnan sat for some time, simply watching as Athos slept, oblivious to the turmoil he had left in his wake.

"How could you forget me so quickly?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered.

The man who had both inspired and infuriated him on multiple occasions seemed tormented even in his sleep. The mystery of the grand house had caught them all by surprise and d'Artagnan felt a little grateful that even Aramis and Porthos had known nothing of it either. There were so many things that passed silently between the trio at times and there had been many times when he had felt left out, simply because they had a shared history that he knew little about. As soon as that thought arose, he felt a wash of guilt follow it. How did this man who trusted those two implicitly, hold such a huge secret that even they did not know about it? What more was buried here that would cause him to completely reject his family home?

And where was Anne?

Athos had certainly never mentioned a wife before, although Aramis had once said something about a woman who died. Was it Anne that drove Athos to drown himself at night? And how did she die?

The light flickered as the flames finally began to sputter out and d'Artagnan decided there was nowhere else to go for the night. He gently eased Athos onto the grass before reaching for his saddlebag once again. His travel cloak was not long enough to cover his friend, but he spread it over his shoulders and back.

Finally, he slipped off his weapons belt and laid it on the ground behind him. He watched as Athos twitched and muttered in his sleep and wondered what he was dreaming of. There seemed no point in waking him as the man was just as restless when awake. A nagging thought kept chewing at him that it was not good for somebody with a head injury to sleep so he decided he would wake him in a while and check on him. In that moment, he wished desperately that Aramis had not left with Bonnaire, but Athos had been right. Porthos could not be left alone with the man and they had a duty to get him to Paris.

Duty.

The word rattled around in his mind as he watched the Comte de la Fére sleeping on the grass before him. That revelation had shaken him to his toes. Athos had always had an air about him that commanded respect, but this? This seemed unfathomable. Why would anybody turn their back on wealth and position? Even more so, why would Athos turn his back on his duty? He could not reconcile what he knew of the man and what had been revealed in the last day.

"Thomas?"

The name was accompanied by a groan as Athos shifted in his sleep. His arm wavered in the air before him, as though searching for something. Without thinking, d'Artagnan reached out a hand and grasped Athos' wrist.

"It's all right. Sleep."

Athos seemed to take the words to heart and stopped moving. Soon d'Artagnan heard the sound of measured breathing again and knew that Athos was once again asleep.

It was a long time later that he finally allowed himself to sleep. It felt like only minutes since his head hit the grass when he was awoken by a kick to his side. Blinking open his eyes, he was stunned to see Athos standing over him, his own sword being waved in his face.

"Who are you?"

The anger in Athos' eyes barely concealed the fear, but d'Artagnan could see it anyway. He slowly sat up, avoiding the tip of the blade that hung only inches from his face.

"I'm your friend. I'm d'Artagnan."

Athos tilted his head to one side as he considered the answer. His mind was churning slowly and something about the young man before him seemed familiar, but the sight of his home in ruins and a gaping hole in his memory left him suspicious.

He waved a hand behind him towards the smouldering ruins.

"What happened here? Where is my family?"

The urgency in his voice was something d'Artagnan didn't think he'd ever heard before.

"There was nobody living here, Athos. It was closed up. We came here yesterday with Porthos after he was injured. Remember?"

_Please remember!_

"Porthos?" The mention of his friend being injured caused an immediate reaction. "Where is he now?"

"He is on his way to Paris with Aramis and Bonnaire. You stayed behind and I came back for you."

Athos stared at him with suspicion. This young man obviously knew his friends, but that did not explain anything else.

Images played through his mind and he reached a hand up to his forehead to steady himself. D'Artagnan watched as he swayed on his feet and ached to reach out to him, but the sword was still far too close for comfort and Athos was too unpredictable.

"Athos?"

"You pulled a sword on me!"

D'Artagnan felt his stomach drop. Of all the memories Athos could have pulled up, it had to be that one!

"Yes, I did. I believed you had killed my father."

Athos stared at him as his fractured memory tried to fill in the holes. If the young man kneeling on the grass before him was against him, surely he would have lied just now. Why tell the truth when it could work against him? In the face of possible death, a less honorable man would lie to protect himself. He looked again at the face before him and saw nothing but concern.

"Who are you?"

D'Artagnan blinked back tears.

"I'm your friend. At least I believed I was."

"And now? What do you believe?" Athos held the sword back a few inches and watched. His memory may not be working as it should, but his observation skills had not diminished. He had learned to read body language in preparation for his court duties and it had served him well as a soldier. The young man before him looked defeated.

"You remember Porthos and Aramis and yet you have forgotten me. Perhaps I am not such a friend as I believed I was."

The words held such pain that Athos took a step back. Why would anybody care so much what he thought of them? Athos turned and walked towards the house, his stomach churning wildly.

D'Artagnan pulled himself to his feet and followed behind, concerned at Athos' unpredictable behaviour. He readied himself to run if Athos should head any closer to the smouldering ruins. He finally stopped some way behind him and could see his friend's slumped shoulders and bowed head. The sword was still in his hand, but its point rested on the ground. D'Artagnan knew how quickly that could change and he warily stepped to the left, making sure Athos could see him and not be startled.

"Thomas is dead." The words were low and flat and d'Artagnan wasn't sure if he was intruding. Finally he ventured forward again.

"Yes, he is. You didn't say how he died, but yesterday you showed me his portrait."

Athos turned towards him with tears shining in his eyes. A chunk of memory had fallen into place and he wished to God it had not. This house, the once grand home of the Comte, was a tomb. His brother had died in its walls. As another chunk slammed into him, his mind tried desperately to reject it and he scrubbed a hand across his face. The sword clattered from his fingers as he dropped to his knees.

D'Artagnan surged forward and was on his knees beside him as Athos swayed alarmingly. He grasped at his shoulders and tried to keep him upright. Tears flowed freely down his friend's face as Athos was battered by wave after wave of memories he did not want. He tried to draw breath, but seemed to struggle with the simple task. D'Artagnan noted tremors underneath his hands and felt completely out of his depth. He would never have expected to see such an emotional display from the man he had come to think of as stoic and reserved. Aramis, or even Porthos would have known what to do. All he had left were his instincts.

"Athos." He reached out a hand to touch the side of his face and felt hot tears washing over his fingers.

"Anne ... she murdered him. I ordered her to be hung."

The words seemed incomprehensible and yet they would explain why Athos had abandoned all that he had as a comte.

"She did this." Athos waved a hand towards the ruined home. "She set it on fire."

D'Artagnan felt his concern rising again. "Your wife's ghost? Athos, you do know …"

"She'd not dead, d'Artagnan! She survived. Last night, she did this."

"She tried to kill you?"

A bitter laugh was the only reply to his question.

D'Artagnan felt Athos shake off his hands and try to rise to his feet. "Perhaps it is what I deserve."

"No! Nobody deserves this!" D'Artagnan pulled himself to his feet and reached out to the man before him. "Least of all, you."

"What do you know of me, d'Artagnan? Really? You know very little of who I am."

"I know that you are an honourable man. When I challenged you, you could have easily and justifiably killed me. You did not! I know you don't remember, but you have taught me much since I came to know you."

Athos stared at the earnest young face before him. So like Thomas in many ways. He closed his eyes to blot out the pain that flooded over him and he felt d'Artagnan grasp at his arm.

He finally opened his eyes to see the same face wavering in front of him.

"We should return to Paris. They will be expecting us."

The sudden change of conversation caught d'Artagnan by surprise, but he quickly nodded.

"Are you well enough to ride?"

"I am well able to ride. And if I am not, I have a friend to help me."

He watched as a brilliant smile flashed back at him. How could he have ever forgotten that smile?


End file.
